"We didn't want to frighten him," said one in a half whisper. 'You know how long we lay at quarantine?" "The ship I came in did that," said Connor. 66 "Did ye say Nora went ashore? Ought I to be looking for her, captain?" Many died; many children," went on the captain. “When we were half way here your boy was taken sick." "Jamesy," gasped Connor. "His mother watched him night and day," said the captain, “and we did all we could, but at last he died; only one of many. There were five buried that day. But it broke my heart to see the mother looking out upon the water. 'It's his father I think of,' said she, 'he's longing to see poor Jamesy.'" Connor groaned. "Keep up if you can, my man," said the captain. "I wish any one else had it to tell rather than I. That night Nora was taken ill also; she grew worse fast. In the morning she called me to her. 'Tell Connor I died thinking of him,' she said, and tell him to meet me.' And my man, God help you, she never said anything more,-in an hour she was gone." Connor had risen. He stood up, trying to steady himself, looking at the captain with his eyes dry as two stones. Then he turned to his friends: "I've got my death, boys," he said, and then dropped to the deck like a log. They raised him and bore him away. In an hour he was at home on the little bed which had been made ready for Nora, weary with her long voyage. There at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr. Bawne bent over him; he had been summoned by the news, and the room was full of Connor's fellow-workmen. "Better, Connor ?" asked the old man. "A dale," said Connor. "It's aisy now; I'll be with her soon. And look ye, masther, I've learnt one thing,-God is good; He wouldn't let me bring Nora over to me, but He's takin' me over to her and Jamesy, over the river; don't you see it, and her standin' on the other side to welcome me?" And with these words Connor stretched out his arms,→ perhaps he did see Nora-Heaven only knows,-and so died. WIDOW MALONE.-CHARLES Lever. Did you hear of the Widow Malone, Ohone! Who lived in the town of Athlone, Alone! Oh, she melted the hearts So lovely the Widow Malone. From minister down To the clerk of the Crown All were courting the Widow Malone, All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mistress Malone, That no one could see her alone, Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne'er catch her eye, So bashful the Widow Malone, Down there.) It's little for blushing they care Put his arm round her waist, Gave ten kisses at laste, "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone, My own! Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!" And the widow thev all thought so shy, You may marry your Mary Malone, Ohone! You may marry your Mary Malone." There's a moral contained in my song, And one comfort, it's not very long, Learn to kiss, not to sigh; For they're all like sweet. Mistress Malone, Ohone! Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone! BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST.--JAKES T. FIELDS. We were crowded in the cabin, It was midnight on the waters "Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast, So we shuddered there in silence, For the stoutest held his breath, As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy in his prayers, But his little daughter whispered, Then we kissed the little maiden, THE ENGINEER'S MURDER.-HENRY MORFORD. Yes, I once committed a murder, That I s'pose the body of people Would not heed the worth of a straw; But I think I should sleep the sounder, Sometimes, when the night winds wail, If I never remembered "murder," Or never told over the tale. No matter the road I was running,- I was young, and hasty, and savage, And my hand,-well, my hand, you will fancy I was in my caboose just at evening, Say 'tween Holden and Fiddler's Run, And that put me four minutes behind; But the truth!-like "going it blind." A black fiend, at full scream, arose!- Have I never got over it? No, sir! It was only a black dog's cry. I may have done many more murders, But there's none, when the night winds are howling, And what is the worst of my sorrow,- And I never tell over the story ROLL ON. Roll on, thou Sun, forever roll, Thou giant, rushing through the heaven! Creation's wonder, nature's soul, Thy golden wheels by angels driven! The planets die without thy blaze, And cherubim, with star-dropt wing, Roll, lovely Earth, and still roll on, And angels, with delighted eyes, Behold thy tints of mount and stream, From the high walls of paradise, Swift wheeling like a glorious dream. Roll, Planets! on your dazzling road, Ye deathless splendors of the skies! |